


Questionable Delights

by MyThoughtBubbles



Series: Delights [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Dark Hatake Kakashi, Dubious Ethics, Greiving Kakashi, Hannibal inspired, Imposter Iruka, Iruka is a Little Shit, M/M, Parallel Universes, Psychological Drama, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rogue Kakashi, Unresolved Sexual Tension, is it suicide if you kill your parallel self, misundertandings, not a meet-cute but sort of, questions for later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyThoughtBubbles/pseuds/MyThoughtBubbles
Summary: Another series of vignettes about Kakashi and Iruka. Includes Ninja-verse, AUs, and hybrids.Tags will be updated with each upload.1. Iruka's Patient2. A Chance Encounter3. Kakashi's Second Chance
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka, Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Series: Delights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678909
Comments: 27
Kudos: 134





	1. Iruka's Patient

**Author's Note:**

> Well, at least I get to write during quarantine.  
> Welcome to a new set of short stories. I'm also working on my other stuff, so idk, expect that shit too :D
> 
> Shout-out to my PR rep, [HazelBeka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelBeka/pseuds/HazelBeka)

Iruka’s brown oxfords tap cleanly on the white spit-shined linoleum floors as he shoves his meal cart down the hallway, idly flipping through a schedule with neatly printed patient names. His perusal slows on the final entry for dinner deliveries.

 _Hatake, Kakashi_.

With a twist of his wrist Iruka snaps the chart shut and makes his way through the labyrinth of the southern wing, intimately familiar with the path. He taps his ID on the badge readers posted at the corridor entrances, a sense of claustrophobia steadily building, worsening with each high-pitched _beep_ of the doors locking behind him. Iruka is yet to get accustomed to them.

An elevator deposits him on the seventh floor and the stainless-steel doors split to reveal an aesthetically tasteful stone wall that welcomes him to the most secure wing in the hospital. Here, Iruka takes a moment to inspect the remaining food tray, eyeing the bland, safe foods, the paper spoon and fork designed to fall apart after a single use, and a lone plastic cup of water. No knife.

Visiting Hatake is never a boring affair.

Three times a day and six days a week, Iruka descends into the wing to bring Hatake his meals and still, the newspaper headlines dog his footsteps, painting vivid images with running commentary from tawdry crime blogs. A solid month of brief interactions does nothing to abate his wariness. Iruka chalks up the trepidation he feels as stemming from the monstrosities documented in Hatake’s patient file, but which patient didn’t have a bloody past? They wouldn’t be here if they were innocent.

No, the apprehension Hatake spurs is borne from something else that Iruka hasn’t quite put his finger on but is nevertheless intrigued by. A less vocal part of his psyche reminds him that what lies in Hatake’s file is incomparable to the rest of the patients, a far cry from the boorish killer with a mother complex.

Hatake resides in a league of his own.

Assured he’s following procedure under the watchful eye of the blinking cameras, Iruka pushes his squeaky cart to the left. He knows Hatake, ensconced from the world in the furthermost cell, has heard him arrive and is expecting him. It won’t do to keep him waiting.

Iruka enters the sight of the only occupied cell and finds Hatake lounging on his bed with his left leg propped up, resting his left wrist on his knee. Hatake tracks him, his gaze forever vigilant and analytical.

The victim reports _consistently_ mentioned the eyes. 

Iruka approaches the cell, mindful of the warning strip at five feet, procures Hatake’s meal and lifts the cover off, tilting it towards Hatake. “Good evening,” he begins courteously, “Tonight’s meal consists of a chicken sandwich with a side of steamed vegetables and potatoes and gravy. Your drink will be water.”

Moving soundlessly, Hatake slips off the bed and meets Iruka at the center of the cell gate where a small opening allows for meals to be passed through. As custom, Iruka presses the tray into the opening and waits for Hatake to take it. He stills when Hatake grabs the tray and doesn’t move, breaking their well-established routine.

Involuntarily, Iruka’s gaze is wrenched up to Hatake’s face and their eyes meet up close for the first time.

 _Oh, he_ is _heterochromatic_ , Iruka thinks, satisfied. In that same moment, it dawns on Iruka that Hatake Kakashi is strikingly handsome when the majority of his face isn’t obscured by a leather muzzle. He fits neatly into Iruka’s type. 

Iruka’s pulse quickens. His training kicks in and he pulls away with a polite smile, ducking his head. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Thanks,” Hatake answers, something lurking in his tone that Iruka can’t parse. He returns to his perch.

Iruka retreats to his cart and busies himself with jotting down notes beside the dinner entry. _Shit_.

He wonders if the severe dissociation between actions and appearances is what disturbs people the most. Outwardly, Hatake’s rather normal _—good looks notwithstanding_ : male, late thirties, grey hair, tall. The scar slicing the left side of his face in two, from forehead to chin, is old, softened with age and the only physical indicator of violence. Nothing about his appearance would suggest he was capable of such horrific atrocities, a stark difference to the correlation normally seen in other patients.

To Iruka’s dismay, it’s not fear that has his heart pounding. 

“Someone was screaming last night. Heard it all the way down here in my humble abode.”

Iruka blinks, startled out of his thoughts. In the entire month of their routine, Hatake has been laconic, rebuking any attempts at conversation. Iruka cuts a glance at Hatake.

“A new patient was transferred in. He’s a tad unhappy about the accommodations.”

Hatake toys with his paper spoon. “An exciting addition to Konoha’s Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Danzo must be shivering with pleasure at his newest pet.”

Against his better judgment, Iruka looks up to see Hatake smile at him. Iruka doesn’t flinch at the bitterly false nature, instead finding himself in awe of the skill. It holds a carefully curated amount of fake friendliness that Iruka would’ve blithely written off in the real world, distracted by Hatake’s measured charm. He frowns. “You’re not pets.”

Hatake arches a brow. “Apologies. Danzo's newest psychopath, fresh off the streets and still reeking of blood. He’ll be lining up the interviews as we speak, ready to whore out the poor bastard to any two-bit academy student thirsting for insight into the mind of a _killer_.” 

That would have been Iruka in another life. “It’s useful.” He fidgets, caught off-guard by his own defensiveness. “The insight can prove valuable for treatment and —”

 _“Treatment .”_ Hatake sets his tray aside and pins Iruka with a dry look. “You think everyone here can be reprogrammed,” he says dismissively. “Merely wiring gone awry.”

“I suppose,” Iruka says carefully, unsure of his footing. “I—”

“Subscribe to behaviorism. Throw nature out the window.”

Iruka's frown is etched deeper. "In some cases. Rehabilitation is possible."

"How cutely naïve."

_“Oh?”_

Hatake responds in a bored tone. "The complexes you sermonize are inadequate at best and deadly at worst. Next, you'll be touting results from hamfisted attempts at psychoanalysis and profiling as genuine insight.”

Iruka’s hand tenses around his pen. _“No, it’s not—”_

“Tell me,” Hatake says innocently. “Do you think I can be cured?”

“You’re still human,” Iruka snaps, evading the question. He shouldn’t be responding.

Hatake grins and Iruka feels a fleeting sense of concern that Hatake somehow read his mind. “A fair number of the populace would deny that.”

“Because they’re afraid.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No,” Iruka says and knows Hatake sees right through it. It would be suicidal not to be afraid of him. “You're all human," he tries again. "Not so different.”

"And here I thought I was receiving special treatment." Hatake glances around pointedly.

Iruka suppresses a snort. “Don’t act like you don’t know why you’re here. The nurse didn’t deserve it. Besides, we’re all just one bad day away from being on the other side of those bars.”

Hatake pauses for a fraction of second, appraising Iruka. “Really. Your bad day involves killing.”

“I didn’t say that." Uneasiness creeps ups his spine. 

Hatake rises to his feet and nears the cell door, his focus solely on Iruka. "Any sane person would be terrified to be down here. Or are you just attracted to killers?”

“I’m not—” Iruka freezes, something flipping in his stomach. “You don’t know me.”

“Oh, but I do,” Hatake purrs. “Whose face do you see, Iruka, when you think about murder?"

Sweat beads at the back of Iruka’s neck. “Which is it? To kill or murder?” Iruka risks a look at Hatake’s eyes and they’re dark.

“Said with a belief in a distinction.”

Iruka drifts towards the cell, unable to stop. “I think everyone has the capacity to kill. A mother for her children. Self defense. Accidents. We’re all capable of it.”

“But not murder?” Kakashi presses, inching closer.

Iruka mimics him, taking a step forward. “Murder implies intent.”

“A deliberate action.”

Iruka nods. “Everyone has thought about killing someone, in one way or another. It’s different to act on it. Murder is extreme cruelty.” The headlines whisper in his ears. “Not everyone can be that evil.” 

Hatake rests his arms through the bars of the cell and Iruka wonders if he could touch Hatake’s hand if he reached out. Hatake tilts his head a degree. “A distinction isn't necessary. At the end of the day, they’re dead and you’re alive.”

“It matters if you don’t want to end up in here,” Iruka deflects. 

Hatake ignores him. “I know what your bad day looks like.”

“Fine, I’ll bite. Do tell.”

“Beneath that pretty face lies a wealth of anger, always on the cusp of erupting into something unspeakably ugly,” Hatake observes, his gaze sharpening. “That threshold isn’t as high as you hope it is. What’ll trigger it, I wonder? Injustice? Humiliation?” Hatake pauses, a slow grin curving his lips. “Tremendous acts of _evil_?”

Iruka stiffens. “I’m not a murderer. I’m not—”

“Like me?”

“You’re—”

“Am I evil, Iruka?”

“I can’t answer that—”

"Yes or no, it's fairly simple,” Kakashi taunts, _pushing_ and _pushing_.

"You can't—" 

“Would you kill me?”

 _“I would!”_ Iruka snaps, his words echoing in the subsequent silence. 

Hatake looks immensely satisfied.

Realization dawns in a frenzy of activity and Iruka’s cheeks burn with chagrin. He had been too zealous and fell right into Hatake's game, proving him right. He stares hard at Hatake, breathing heavily. _This isn’t a man;_ it’s a devil in man’s clothing, a beast with a tailored person-suit just toying with him. Iruka grinds his jaw and reassesses his approach.

“How?” Hatake asks lowly.

And Iruka can envision it in a million different ways, can see how easy it would be to carry out. He knows everyone's schedules, he knows when the cameras are briefly offline, he knows when the guards sneak out for a cigarette break. He knows what to do. 

“The food. Poison,” Iruka admits with an exhale. He grabs the bars of the cell as an anchor, Kakashi leaning in to tower over him.

“Impersonal. Still protecting yourself.”

“Are you trying to get me to kill you?”

“I’m all for self-expression,” Hatake says with a wink.

Caught off-guard, Iruka smothers his smile before it progresses beyond an involuntary twitch. Again, a precise amount of humor and inflection - the calculated charisma is incredible. “I won’t. I _w_ __o_ uldn't" _

“Not willingly at first.”

Iruka swallows dryly and Hatake watches his throat move.

Hatake closes in, their faces inches apart between the bars. His voice drops to a whisper. "Do you feel as forgiving when Kabuto stands by and blames you for his incompetence? When he digs his claws in and insults you in front of the others? Or do you enjoy being humiliated?"

 _Ah._ Iruka slips a hand into his pocket, fighting back the slow-simmering anger that rose whenever he even _heard_ Kabuto’s name. Their spats are well-known in administration and no one ever sides with Iruka, some fearful of repercussions and others indifferent. Danzo does nothing to dissuade Kabuto’s theocratic rule. 

“I know what you’re doing."

“No one would miss him.”

“The staff would.”

“Expendable. Replaceable.”

_“I’m not a murderer.”_

“Then be a killer.” Hatake says and Iruka could scold him.

“I...I’d need help,” he whispers. 

Excitement darkens Hatake’s eyes. “Ask me to help you.”

Iruka licks his lips and makes his move. “Kakashi, will you help me?”

 _“Fuck yes, you—”_ Hatake abruptly stops and blinks. He glances down and Iruka withdraws his hand, the tip of the needle dark with blood from Hatake’s hip. “Huh.”

"Kabuto is ambitious enough to cause his own downfall. I won't need to lift a finger." Iruka clasps a cap over the needle and returns it to his pocket. "You might want to get back to your cot before it really hits. The others have broken noses and I’d rather not ruin your face.”

Hatake gives him a slow, razor-thin smile. “You got me,” he says in a mix of amusement and anger. He stiffly shuffles backwards to his bed, his intense gaze never leaving Iruka. If anything, it has hardened.

“You make a good case, but I’d rather stay on this side of the bars,” Iruka mutters, his bravado wavering as the severity of his little power play settles cozily in his chest. _Fuck._ He’s just guaranteed Hatake will never leave him alone. What game has he started? “I’ll pick your tray up tomorrow morning. Until then.”

A low chuckle follows his escape.


	2. A Chance Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's something short, cute, and simple ;D

Shivering, Iruka steps into the cozy atmosphere of the nearly-empty tavern, the blast of heat from the large fireplace a welcome reprieve from the midnight storm waging war outside.

"Iruka-sensei?"

Iruka blinks rain water out of his eyes, looks around curiously, and in a secluded table in the far corner to his right, a shadowy figure lowers his hood and a mop of damp silver hair springs into sight. A single grey eye appraises him and Iruka grins widely, relieved to see a fellow Konoha Shinobi, even if it's the infamous Copy-nin.

He approaches cautiously and takes Kakashi's lack of disguise as a sign to speak to him openly. "Kakashi-san, what a surprise!"

Kakashi inclines his head and removes his feet from the chair he was using as a footstool. "Likewise." He gestures towards the table, shoving a few scrolls to the side. "Sit down."

"Thanks." Iruka sloughs off his travel pack and sinks into the chair with a long-suffering sigh.

"You’re a long way from home," Kakashi remarks idly. "Traveling?"

"Finished an escort mission," Iruka mutters. "Some airhead lord needed a shinobi guard to cross the whole of Fire Country. I haven't slept in weeks."

Kakashi waves the waiter over. "They let Academy senseis take missions?" 

Iruka's eyes narrow and he can't tell if Kakashi is being intentionally rude. "The Academy is on break and, surprisingly, we're still shinobi,” he answers with a bite. 

Kakashi quickly glances at him and tilts his head in an apology. "Ah, of course," he says, carding a hand through his hair. "Looks like you drew the short stick."

With a sniff, Iruka orders a drink and a hot meal once the waiter arrives. "Actually, I traded missions with Izumo."

"Put it on my tab," Kakashi tells the waiter and Iruka happily forgives him. "Go down a rank?"

"No, up." Iruka wrinkles his nose. "My original mission involved patrol duties in Konoha's civilian barracks."

"Needed something to take you out of Konoha?"

Iruka nods, finally warm enough to remove his poncho. The wet collar of his shirt clings to his skin. "It's nice to leave every now and then." He strips off his hitai-ate and loosens his ruined ponytail, running his hand through and wincing at the knots. _Time for a haircut_ , he thinks absently.

"It can get suffocating," Kakashi agrees, watching him intently. He offers Iruka a small towel from his pack and Iruka takes it gratefully and immediately attacks the ends of his hair.

He ignores the urge to hide from Kakashi's piercing gaze, aware his school-boy crush on Kakashi has never fully gone away. At least they weren't captain-and-subordinate anymore. "Are you on a mission now? It's been some time since you visited the Mission Desk."

Kakashi shakes his head and looks away, thumbing the side of his nose. "On a break, actually. Figured I could rest for a day or two before returning to Konoha and heading back out on the same day."

Setting the towel off to dry on the chair next to him, Iruka turns to Kakashi and brazenly looks him over. Kakashi raises his eyebrow at the inspection and Iruka gives him a charming smile he hopes hides his indecent thoughts. "Glad to see you're not injured. I've heard horror stories."

"Tch. All exaggerations," Kakashi says with a flippant wave of his hand.

"I'm rather fond of the one with the chakra depletion, the poisoned dango, and your ninken rebellion," Iruka says with a wink. "I use it to scare the pre-genin."

Kakashi pauses. "...that one may have a sliver of validity, but the ninken did not drag me to the hospital. I dragged myself."

Iruka grins. "And the one about the dumpster?"

"I wasn't drunk, I just needed some sleep," Kakashi defends, his tone too amused for Iruka to believe he's offended. "Why sensei, I never pegged you as the type to believe rumors."

"After years of working at the Mission Desk, the line between reality and rumors gets blurred." He takes a swig of the drink the waiter brings him and tilts the glass at Kakashi, the alcohol sitting nicely in his empty stomach. "I'm all ears for clarification. Or anything else to add to my arsenal."

The shape of a grin curves Kakashi's cheeks.

Hours later, Kakashi realizes they haven't stopped talking once.

It's shockingly easy to chat with Iruka, something he hasn't bothered to do since the days of being his team lead, and even then, it wasn’t the same. They had been different people and Kakashi can't help but lament the wasted time.

He’s thoroughly enjoying the sensei’s company, pleased the opportunity fell into his lap. Outside of the semi-rigid structure of Konoha’s shinobi system, Iruka is relaxed, unbidden by the label of teacher or chuunin. 

Here, they’re just Kakashi and Iruka.

The tavern grows busier as midnight comes and goes, but neither of them notice, safely ensconced from any distractions in their little bubble. A few drinks in, Iruka unwinds further and Kakashi is ensnared. He finds himself subconsciously leaning in and resting his chin on his palm, watching Iruka talk and gesticulate animatedly, his attention split between listening and merely enjoying the view. Iruka’s hair has nearly dried, the ends curving into a hint of a curl that takes years off of Iruka’s face, giving him an attractive glow. Kakashi is glad his mask hides the heat in his cheeks. 

He hasn’t felt this comfortable in years.

Iruka eventually falters into silence as a self-conscious edge bleeds in his posture. He straightens up, avoiding Kakashi’s face. “I guess it’s about time for me to go. I’ve taken up enough of your time, Kakashi-san,” he begins, reaching for his poncho.

Kakashi curses internally, unwilling to let Iruka go just yet. “ _Kakashi_ , Iruka. We’re not in Konoha, you can drop the honorifics.” Iruka gives him a small smile and Kakashi glances towards the dark windows, his heartbeat quickening. “Will you be alright? The storm has gotten worse.”

“Ah, I hadn’t noticed.” Iruka follows his gaze and chews his bottom lip and Kakashi wants to reach out and tug it free. “I wonder if there’s any lodging still available.” Iruka toys with the silverware near his half-full plate.

Kakashi inhales slowly, a trickle of excitement seeping into his blood. _Does Iruka…?_ “You know, I have—” he pauses as a tavern patron strides up to their table and pointedly ignores Kakashi. Kakashi recognizes him as the too-loud idiot that's been side-eyeing Iruka the entire night.

The civilian taps Iruka sharply on the shoulder, eyes greedily taking in Iruka’s physique. "Excuse me, miss, what are your hours?”

Kakashi tongues a canine, reminding himself to behave.

Iruka’s shoulders tense and fire flares in his eyes as they cut towards the civilian. Before he can turn and reply _—shout, scold—_ Kakashi grabs Iruka’s wrist and pins the stranger with a glare. “He’s with me,” he says icily, not recognizing his own voice. “Kindly, fuck off.”

The civilian blanches and jumps away from Iruka. “Oh shit, you’re a guy!” He backs up. “Ah fuck, sorry, I’ll just, uh, go.” 

The civilian scurries away and Kakashi doesn’t relax. He’s unsure if he’s angrier at the stranger for mistaking Iruka for an escort or at himself for being impulsive. He feels Iruka’s erratic pulse beneath the soft press of his thumb.

Iruka’s cheeks are bright red as he looks down at their joined hands. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and Kakashi immediately lets go, his hand feeling empty without Iruka’s beneath it. 

“My apologies, sensei. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” _Or scare you off, shit._

“Ah, thanks. It’s not the first time,” Iruka admits, reaching up to touch his scar in what Kakashi presumes is a habit.

An overwhelming surge of jealousy hits Kakashi and he knows it’s unwarranted. He has no claim on Iruka and it’s starting to piss him off. “Common occurrence?”

“It’s been a while,” Iruka says, flustered.

It’s not fair that he's left such a wreck from a simple touch and Kakashi looks as stoic as ever, unaffected.

His skin buzzes with inappropriate warmth and the ghost sensation of Kakashi’s calloused hand and Iruka doesn’t care that he was just propositioned. His mind is miles away, hyper-focused on playing loops of Kakashi’s threat. Iruka tries to convince himself he imagined the hint of possessiveness, begging his pulse to settle.

“Mistaken for an escort or mistaken for a woman?” Kakashi quips. He drums his fingers on the table, canvassing the room restlessly.

Iruka sighs. “Both.” He tugs at his hair, using the distraction to avoid looking at Kakashi and giving himself away. “I did several undercover stints in the Land of Water as a woman using minimal henges.”

“Meaning seduction and information retrieval,” Kakashi fills in, his tone oddly tight.

“Thankfully nothing lecherous,” Iruka looks up quickly to see Kakashi rubbing his jaw. “Gods, I don’t think I could have managed that for long, but it was another reason I stepped away from covert missions. I wasn’t something I was comfortable doing.”

“Good.” A seed of dangerous hope flourishes in Iruka’s mind and Kakashi runs a finger around the rim of his drink. “Opposite sex henges have never been my strong suit. Apparently I’m too obstinate to pass, always arousing suspicion.”

Iruka shrugs, tentatively hedging his bets. “I prefer the male version, if it’s any consolation.” 

Kakashi looks at him strangely for a long moment, sending Iruka’s heart into his throat. “Do you,” Kakashi says finally, his face unreadable.

Iruka panics. “And uh, I guess that proves that prodigies are bad at some things.”

“Plenty of things, I assure you.”

“Right,” Iruka says, staring at the table. He curses the storm outside, ready to bolt.

An awkward silence falls between them and he fidgets, aware he ruined their evening. Mounting embarrassment sends him standing and gathering his belongings and what remained of his dignity. He sways a little on his feet. “I think I’ll call it a night.”

“You haven’t finished eating."

“Not much of an appetite.”

“Are you sick? Were you wandering around while sick?” Kakashi asks, strong disapproval in his tone.

Iruka squirms. “I’m perfectly fine. Just not hungry.”

Kakashi stills. “If it’s something I said,” he begins, and Iruka weighs the risks of darting into the storm without his gear and tipsy as fuck.

His embarrassment tripled, Iruka grasps at straws. “I’m heading back to Konoha in the morning.”

“So am I,” Kakashi says quickly, rising to his feet. He looks at Iruka expectantly.

Iruka blinks at him, confused. He bites his bottom lip.

“Do you want to—”

“Would you mind—”

They both stop, wait a beat, and laugh, the tension dissipating.

“Iruka, would you like some company tomorrow?”

It’s a pure gamble and Kakashi’s hands feel clammy with sweat.

Iruka stares at him, wide doe-eyes crinkling with a small smile. “I’d be glad to have some company. If you don’t mind, of course.” He nods towards the bar. “Let me check if there’s any room and I’ll let you know about tomorrow.”

Kakashi resists groaning. “I have a suite. You can lodge with me.” He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow suggestively. He’s dead certain Iruka feels _something_ towards him and he refuses to let that go.

“If that’s alright, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Iruka begins slowly, the uncertainty returning.

Fed up with subtlety and needing a concise yes or no, Kakashi carefully clasps Iruka’s forearm and ducks to speak into Iruka’s ear, nearly brushing the outer shell with his nose. “I’m not fond of giving or receiving mixed signals, sensei,” he warns. “Just to be clear."

Iruka deflates at Kakashi’s touch, his blush returning full force. “Oh thank the gods.” He eyes Kakashi from head to foot with a heated gaze. “Where is your room?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bought the first Witcher book; gonna read and watch the series :)


	3. Kakashi's Second Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> un-beta'd, so beware

It ends with an ear-piercing crack of displaced air.

Kakashi crashes to the ground, gasping for breath, every atom of his body feeling as if they were being torn apart and smashed back together, smothering him in a thick blanket of pain that leaves him helpless.

Did the jutsu work? Did he make it?

The world splits and coalesces blurrily, over and over, matching the pulsing burn of the sharingan. Kakashi weakly tugs his mask down and vomits. As the chakra depletion sets in and he wavers in and out of consciousness, he reaches for the bloody rag in his pocket.

It’s the last thing he sees before he blacks out.

How close to Konoha was he? How many days has he been out? 

Blearily, Kakashi squints at the shadows of swaying leaves on the grass next to his face, his gaze distant as he impatiently waits for his mobility to return. The tingles of regenerating chakra are slow to appear and Kakashi detests his position. He could’ve at least fallen backwards — he’s been inhaling dirt for the last few hours.

His stomach sharply twists in on itself, begging for food. Could he have brought any supplies? Would they have survived the jump?

He spares a thought for everyone, vaguely wondering when they’d realize what he’s done. No doubt Tsunade would be furious and calling for his dismissal, or maybe even death, but it doesn’t matter — they can’t follow him. He’s destroyed every last scroll.

Ignoring the sour scent of the puddle of bile beside him and the growing pressure in his bowels, Kakashi glances at the scrap of navy still clenched in his hand. It has long ago stopped smelling of sandalwood, and the edges had frayed from accompanying him for months on end, but Kakashi can’t part with it. It’s all he has left.

Kakashi closes his eyes and remembers, a ghost of a smile curving his lips.

He’s approximately a few miles deep into Konoha’s surrounding forest — fortunately in the same place he’d left. Now viciously hungry, Kakashi staggers to a nearby river, to a certain rocky spot he often uses to stash supplies. He’s surprised when he finds it empty with no signs of having ever been disturbed. Uneasiness rises in his gut.

Did he misjudge the distance? What day was it?

Kakashi glances around, eyeing the familiar forest. The landscape is healthy and untouched — Pain hasn’t attacked yet. There’s still time, but how much?

He clutches his rag, worrying the fabric with his thumb. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find you,” he promises. “I won’t fail again.”

Outside of Konoha’s gates, Kakashi dispatches a clone and waits, trepidation making him fidgety.

He paces, noticing something off about Konoha’s entrance. Wasn’t the left pillar always a little taller than the right? Why did the right pillar seem taller? Was he wrong?

His clone returns with an odd looking box of ration bars and a newspaper. Kakashi reads and rereads the paper, his stomach dropping.

His clone watches him carefully. “You know what this means. I’m still —”

Kakashi abruptly dismisses him and fixates on the date and the image of the Hokage tower on the front page. “Shit. I misjudged everything.” He pockets the paper and shoves a ration bar into his mouth. He glances back at the gates. “How did I fuck up this badly?”

He digs a hand into his pocket and wraps the end of the rag around his palm, soothing himself. “Iruka. I’m here. I’ll find you.”

Kakashi walks through the civilian markets on edge, feeling as if he were infiltrating a foreign village. He isn’t supposed to be here, violating the very rules of nature, but no one turns to stare or call attention to him and for that, Kakashi is grateful. 

The fact that the entire village is mirrored keeps him on edge.

The jutsu was supposed to send him back, before Pain’s arrival, before Iruka’s— Kakashi clenches his jaw and forces himself to keep walking in an easy slouch —  _ before Iruka’s death _ . Before everything was taken from him.

Something is horribly wrong.

In the distance, the Hokage mountain looms over the village. Fittingly, Hiruzen glares at him in disapproval, the rocky faces next to his unfamiliar.

Kakashi doesn’t get the chance to truly orient himself, his feet taking him to Konoha Academy, now on the opposite side of the street. There, he spies Iruka trudging home.

For a moment, Kakashi can’t breathe.

_ Iruka’s alive! It worked! It fucking worked! _

Hysterical laughter bubbles up in his chest and Kakashi trembles. Months of waiting and planning, months of dealing with the pain and losing hope…. _ he made it _ ! He takes a step forward and then another, fighting a manic smile that hurts his cheeks.

“Iruka. I found you.”

Iruka pauses and glances over his shoulder. “Hey Kakashi-san, how are you?” He has no scar.

Alarm seizes Kakashi’s spine in an icy grip. Iruka’s eyes hold no familiar warmth, no further recognition. He’s an utter stranger.

“Fine, just taking a walk on the path of life,” Kakashi manages to croak through his panic. This wasn’t his Iruka.

The Iruka lookalike makes a confused face. “Sounds...like fun?” He plants a hand on his hip. “How was your mission? I heard through Asuma-sensei that it was an S-rank. I haven’t taken one of those in some time.”

Kakashi’s mind spins. Was Iruka a jounin? What the fuck was going on? He forces a grin. “It went well. I can tell you all about it when I submit my report. I’ll even be sure to fill out every section so you don’t scold me.”

“Why would I read your report? I don’t work at the Mission Desk.” He snickers. “You seem a little off today, Kakashi-san. Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Maybe you’re right, I need some rest.” Kakashi parrots numbly.

The false Iruka turns to leave and pauses. “Oh, and Kakashi-san?”

“Yes?”

He points at his face. “What’s with the mask?”

Just like the village, his compound is mirrored.

He creeps through the empty compound, the differences enough to leave Kakashi entirely unsettled. The dirty mug in the sink deepens the pit of dread in his gut. The faint scent of coffee lingers in the air.

He hasn’t only gone back, the jutsu sent him elsewhere. 

Just the implications of Iruka not having his scar are huge — what key events have not happened? Or happened differently? Why doesn’t he wear a mask?

Kakashi pulls out a chair next to his kitchen table. The familiar creak of the wood is all but comforting. He pulls out the rag and lays it gently on the table, smoothing out the creases.

“I found you. But you’re not you. And I’m not the Kakashi you know.” He stares at the rag for a timeless moment, considering his options. Then, he turns to stare at the dirty mug. “But I could be.”

He can’t go back and no one can follow him. He has a second chance. Iruka remains alive in this world, free from the clutches of a brutal death. Kakashi can start over, can build their relationship anew, can learn the differences and adapt — he can make this world his own and finally be happy. It shares enough similarities to get by, but he’ll have to be careful to avoid suspicion.

His resolve grows steadily. 

Yes, he’ll live here. This Iruka might be a parallel version, but his core personality seems to be the same. The same Iruka that Kakashi won’t lose again. 

In his bedroom, he finds a stash of weapons and replaces his uniform. He retrieves the opened mission scroll on  _ his  _ kitchen table, glances at the return date, and leaves.

Outside Konoha’s gates, he waits for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D dunno where this came from, but enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I love comments, so drop me a few!  
> I'm just absolute shit at responding, lmao


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